Under Influence
by AlwaysObviously
Summary: A new Weasley product hit the shelves a couple of weeks back. It is a colorless, odorless potion that drains away all inhibitions the person has previously harbored. What will happen once it is imbibed by Hermione Granger, waiting for her detention with Professor Snape? SS/HG Oneshot UPDATE: Uh-oh. Might this become a story?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: For several days now, this little idea has been jumping around in my head, screaming to be let out. Well here you go. Run, little one, and see where life takes you…**

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Severus Snape swept into his office and stopped short at the sight of Miss Granger seated in front of his desk. Shit. He had completely forgotten about her detention. He had been called away to meet with the Dark Lord and this had just slipped his mind. He could not even remember what he had assigned detention for. His tired, sleep-deprived mind refused to provide him with an answer. He did not even know how long she had already been waiting.

"My apologies, Miss Granger," he said as he folded himself into his chair, "I have been called away on urgent business."

"I understand," Miss Granger replied in a hoarse voice. She probably had been waiting for hours. Pulling one of the glasses on his desk over, he filled it with water and handed it to her. She took it from his hands with a grateful look and downed it in three large gulps.

He still was none the wiser as to why he had assigned her detention, so he folded his arms in front of his chest, regarding her steadily. "Explain how this happened," he said, trusting that she would try to defend herself and with that, give him enough clues to remember.

"I knew the recipe asked for ground beetle eyes, but my mind had wandered and I chopped them instead. I apologize. I knew that is no proper excuse as I put everyone in class in danger. I'm very sorry."

Ah, yes, he remembered the incident in class this morning. It seemed a lifetime ago. Visits with the Dark Lord tended to leave such impressions.

"I am disappointed, Miss Granger. At this stage of your education, I would have expected you to employ your utmost concentration to the subject. You cannot allow your mind to wander."

"That's easy for you to say," she sighed.

Excuse me?! What impertinence. "I. Beg. Your. Pardon?" he snarled, enunciating every word.

"You don't know what it's like, having to work in close proximity to the one person you desire above all others. To smell his delicious scent, being able to study him up close,… it's the most alluring distraction. I just can't help thinking about him, how it would feel to be touched by those hands and to have his lips –"

"Miss Granger!" Snape bellowed. "What in all of the world is wrong with you?!"

As the words left his mouth, understanding dawned. There _was_ something wrong with her. This was completely atypical behavior for his proper, overachieving student. She must be under influence of some substance or spell.

Growling in the back of his throat, he realized he had forgotten to put a cleansing spell on the glasses on his desk. A new Weasley product had hit the shelves a couple of weeks back. It was a colorless, odorless potion that once imbibed drained away all inhibitions the person had previously harbored, leaving them to speak their opinion without consulting their brains beforehand if this was wise.

A group of Fifth years had had their fun prepping the glasses on his desk that he kept for offering students a sip of water when their throats had dried out from fear of what was about to descend on them in form of a furious Potions Master. The result had been some rather unflattering comments toward his appearance as well as general teaching style. He had obliviated the students once he substance had left their system. It had taken about an hour for them to come to their senses, and he had seen the horror in their eyes as they realized what they had just spilled out in front of their feared professor. Obliviation had been the best choice for everyone involved.

He had taken up the routine of casting a cleansing spell on the glasses ever since. Today, he had forgotten. Obviously, Miss Granger had fallen victim to said potion. He flicked his wand at the clock on his wall, setting it so it would chime after an hour had passed.

Remembering all the years he had tormented her, he groaned inwardly. This would be hell to pay. But still preferable to hearing her blabber on about her latest crush, whoever that might be. Obviously, he was in her Potions class.

He forced his thoughts away from the subject. He should not care whom she was interested in. It was bad enough that she had been talking about it in the first place.

She still sat there, watching him with bemused eyes. Maybe if he did not speak at all, neither would she, and they could pass the hour in silence before he could finally retire to bed. No such luck.

"I don't think he ever really noticed me. As a woman, I mean. He has noticed me alright. He needs to in order to hate me."

Oh, Gods, Severus thought. Please, not an hour of this! Still, his mind latched onto this new information. So that guy hated her, huh? Could it be Draco?! His godson was pleasing to the eye, he had to admit. And, although on the sly side, he was smart. He could see why Granger might be attracted. Although if the other two of the Golden Trio knew her secret fantasies… he chuckled inwardly at the thought.

Hermione, meanwhile, kept rambling on. "And those hands. I've never seen such beautiful hands. The way he holds his knife when he slices through the ingredients – it's like a form of art. One that he has perfected. I could watch his fingers work all day long. And who could blame me if, at the sight, I start thinking about what those hands could do, running all over my body – "

"Miss Granger!" he bellowed again, a sudden heat rising inside of him. The way she had spoken, in a seductively throaty voice, draped over her chair led his thoughts on a merry chase towards rather inappropriate directions.

In the last couple of months, she had undergone a complete transformation. Gone were the slim, knobbly extremities of childhood. They had been replaced by soft curves, glowing skin and flowing hair. Whenever her amber eyes met his, he would be reminded of this fact anew, and he wished he wouldn't. There was no point.

His clothes seemed too tight and he wished for a breath of fresh air. He glanced at the clock – another forty minutes to go.

"Miss Granger, maybe it would be best if you kept those thoughts to yourself and switched to another topic."

"But don't you see – that is exactly my problem. How am I to focus on anything else if my mind insists on displaying delicious scenarios involving his mouth and his hands and his –"

"Miss Granger!" he interrupted her before any more incriminating words could leave her mouth. He did not need these images of Draco in his head. "Maybe you could just let him know that you fancy him and spare us more of your blabbering right now?"

A smile lit up her face. Rising from her chair, she exclaimed: "That is a fantastic idea! I'll do that right now."

Severus jumped up from his seat. She could not be allowed to leave until the effects of the potion had worn off. And even then, she might prefer to be obliviated to forget about the whole thing.

"You cannot leave this room!" He could not let her go in this state.

Her smile deepened as she strolled confidently towards him. "Oh, well, then it is a very good thing I don't have to leave this room to let him know," she drawled.

He did not understand until she intruded his personal space, placing her hand on his chest and running it up towards his shoulder. She stepped so close that her clothes were touching his and lifted her face to his neck to draw in a deep breath. She sighed in pleasure. "You smell incredible. I would like to lick you to see if you taste just as good."

His breath caught in his throat. She was so close, too close, and her touch had left him feeling very… unsettled. She seemed very enraptured with him. Maybe it had not been the new Weasley brew but a love potion?

"Miss Granger, it seems you are under the influence of a potion, probably a love potion considering the very recent nature of your interest in me."

She gave him a look of undeniable longing. Definitely a love potion. She would not want him with all the young wizards chasing after her. He placed a hand on her shoulder to gently push her away.

"Oh, Professor," she purred, "this interest is far from recent. In fact, I've been thinking about you for years. But in the last months it has become almost… unbearably intense."

His throat suddenly ran dry. If that was true, it _was_ the Weasley potion she had imbibed. Which also meant that everything she had just said was the truth.

She lifted her other arm to grasp his hand that was still resting on her shoulder. She pulled it up and placed it along her cheek, rubbing her soft skin against his rough one. She turned her head to place a slow kiss to the center of his palm. A hot, electric tingle shot from the place of contact through his body, sending shivers along his spine. He had not known such little contact could harness such an intense response.

Her lips started sliding along his skin, trailing his fingers until they reached his fingertips. Her lips opened and slowly, delicately, she placed her teeth around the soft flesh of his fingertip and bit down gently, worrying the sensitive tissue.

His breath left him in a rush as his skin seemed to burn. A dark desire rose in him and he tried to suppress it. He could not allow himself to feel this way.

"Miss Granger," he whispered hoarsely, "this is highly inappropriate."

"I don't care about propriety right now," she said, sucking the tip of his finger into her mouth. His knees buckled. These lips, that hot mouth around his finger, her tongue slowly swirling around the tip were sensations too overwhelming to process. He blinked against the spots in his vision. He could hardly draw a breath.

"I am your teacher," he rasped out, holding that fact up like a shield. She blew right through it.

"That does not make me want you any less." Her hands gripped his coat and she used the leverage to pull herself flush against him. Her face was inches away from his, her pupils wide with desire. "I've only ever wanted you," she whispered before she closed the distance to touch her lips against his.

He tried hard to resist. Oh, he tried so very hard. But those sweet lips were insistent, nibbling on his lower lip as if it were ambrosia, her hot tongue exploring the lines of his mouth, tasting him. Her moans of pleasure only intensified the experience. When she pressed her firm breasts against his chest, he gasped in reaction and she put his opened mouth to good use. At the touch of her tongue to his, the last parts of his resolve melted away.

He allowed himself to be pulled into the sensation, slowly responding to her touch. Molten fire crawled through his veins when he explored her mouth. She tasted of fresh spring rain and the first rays of sunshine after a dreary day.

He had never been kissed like that. He had been kissed, but rarely, and it had been those fast, pecking kisses that accompanied a hurried one night stand. He had never been really kissed. That slow, sensuous snogging he had only ever encountered by watching from afar. He had consoled himself with the thought that sex was more pleasurable, anyways. How wrong he had been. This kiss with Granger, it was a revelation.

His body did not feel like his own. The visceral reactions were astounding – his heart was pumping at top speed, adrenaline was racing through his veins and everything tingled as hot and cold flashes raced under his skin. He was swept away on a wave of emotion as he gathered the woman in his arms closer, tunneling the fingers of his left hand into her hair.

It seemed like ages had gone by and he was no closer to having his fill. Those sweet, delicious lips kept teasing him and he was all too willing to comply. Finally, when he thought his legs would no longer support him, he pulled back, taking in her face. Her luminous eyes were wide with wonder, swollen lips softly parted. She was so beautiful and alluring that she took his breath away.

The clock on his wall chimed, reminding him of the time. The hour since she had drunken from the glass had passed.

He watched her closely. Something in her eyes stirred, and he saw the emotions as they drifted to the surface, almost too fast to keep track of. There was confusion followed by surprise overtaken by desire quickly tainted by embarrassment, then another quick flare of desire before it finally settled on mortification.

"Oh, my God," she whispered hoarsely, a blush staining her cheeks as her fingertips trailed over the sensitive skin of her lips. Her gaze had dropped away, but now found his again. Hot tingles flared under his skin as their eyes met.

Oh my God, indeed. What was he to do now?

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 **A/N: And that's how far my mind has taken me. Could this become a story? It might. What does it depend on? Reviews, people, Reviews! * wriggles eyebrows, points to that certain box in the lower right corner ***


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for the overwhelming response! I cannot tell you how much that means to me. But I can show you! How about another chapter? But you know the drill – my muse goes where she can gorge herself, meaning I usually keep writing on those stories that get most feedback. Although I plan on finishing them all! So if you want more of this, you know what to do… ;)**

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Chapter 2

Time was ticking by, and neither of them was able to look away. The tingles under his skin kept burning, singeing as he fought for composure. Her eyes seemed to draw him in and his body screamed for him to pull her back into his arms and continue where they had left off.

He knew he could not give in, though. She was his student, for one, and too beautiful and innocent for a depraved old man, that was for sure. How was he supposed to go on, seeing her in class or at dinner in the Great Hall? He would be unable to stop himself from thinking about that kiss.

That kiss! That marvelous, incredible kiss that had his insides burning and made his chest constrict. A completely novel experience that had been more exhilarating than anything he had ever known. The way she had responded to him; the way she had held him, so caring and so… loving.

Nobody had ever held him like that. He had lived a life devoid of nurturing contact, and as alien as the concept was to him, it was as addictive as the most powerful drug. He ached to be held again, to feel that _want_. For _him_.

He closed his eyes, unable to stand looking at her any longer without acting on his impulses. Drawing in a deep breath, he tried to pull himself together, preparing himself for what he had to do. He tried to employ Occlumency to suppress his emotions, but the results were lacking. Still, time was running out, so he opened his eyes again and looked at her, standing in front of him, eyes averted.

When his gaze came to rest on her face, his stomach dropped and tingles erupted under his skin again. Damn it.

"Miss Granger," he started, his silky baritone carrying a hoarse quality.

At the sound of his voice, her eyelids fluttered and she sucked in a sharp breath of air.

"What just happened – it should never have been allowed to happen."

Her eyes closed and her shoulders sagged for a fraction of an inch.

"I can't explain myself, but I do apologize sincerely. I think it is best if I relieve you of this memory."

Her eyes snapped open and her expression changed. Her mortification disappeared and she was staring at him in clear defiance before speaking fiercely. "You are not going to take this away from me."

"Miss Granger."

"No." She gave a curt shake of her head that had her curls bouncing. "I don't know why you chose to indulge me when I was… under influence, but I should have a choice to keep the memory or not. I choose to keep it."

"Miss Granger, we will be working together for several more months. We might be rather ill at ease if we both retain this memory." The idea of the two of them having to see each other every other day, being that close with both of them knowing what had happened – it was unthinkable.

She considered his words before speaking. "I swear to you, and I hope you do know that I would not break such a promise, that I will never tell a living soul about what has happened tonight. I do see your point that it might be… difficult to see each other in class if we're both aware. If you want to consider being obliviated, I can perform it on you if you wish."

Never. The idea that this experience could be taken from him made him nauseous. It was the most incredible tactile and emotional encounter he had ever had. Nothing and no one was going to take that away from him.

"Miss Granger, do you honestly believe that any professor would let themselves be obliviated by a student?!"

Both silent, they stood facing each other, unsure how to proceed. For a minute, he considered obliviating her despite her protests, but somehow his code of honor insisted he could not do that to her.

At last, he spoke. "Fine. Keep the memory." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I do feel the need to explain myself to you in some way."

Gods, what should he tell her? He hated being that exposed, but if he did not give her an explanation, her mind would conjure up its own, which might be even more… disturbing than the truth.

"I am a very solitary person, Miss Granger, which you have probably very well gathered. I do not want to impart any details of my life, but I can go as far as to say I have never experienced something that could be called a 'loving relationship'."

He hated exposing his past to her, but he needed her to understand.

"The way you touched me," he said, and instantly his mind conjured up the memory of her soft kiss on his lips and his eyebrows drew together in concentration to force it away, "no one has ever touched me like that."

The sentence sat heavy in the silence of the room, but as he did not want to give her the chance to display some form of pity, he quickly continued. "I am only telling you this to explain why I responded so inappropriately to your advances. I was overwhelmed by the physical reaction and my mind went blank. This is not an excuse, just an explanation."

She raised her eyes to his for the first time since he had started speaking. The pity that he had feared to see in the depths of her eyes was curiously absent. For the first time, he could not tell at all what she was feeling or thinking.

She worried her lower lip before speaking. "It seems then there is only one option. We both try to put this behind us and try to proceed as if nothing had happened."

Leave it to Miss Granger to be completely sensible when anyone else would probably run screaming to their head of house.

"Indeed, Miss Granger, it seems like this is the only viable solution," he conceded before turning towards his desk and gathering his papers. "You are dismissed."

He kept his eyes on his desk, shuffling his parchments unnecessarily. He just could not bear to meet her eyes again. He heard the soft sound of her footsteps as she turned and walked towards the door. He listened for the sound of the handle turning, but there were several seconds of silence before finally, the creaking sound carried through the damp air of the dungeons.

"Good night, Professor Snape." The words were spoken softly, but they reached his ears just as well. As the sound of the door closing behind her rang through the silence, he dropped into his chair, raking the fingers of both hands through the inky strands of his hair.

What a mess. Thank God it was Friday and he had the whole weekend to hole himself up in his quarters and forget about the world outside.

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Monday morning Severus strode into the Great Hall, his dark gaze sweeping over the room, taking in everything at large. He surreptitiously scanned the Gryffindor table, but Granger's bushy mop of hair was nowhere to be seen. He seated himself, spooning food onto his table automatically although anxiety had his stomach in a knot.

He picked up his fork and knife and set to rearranging his eggs and toast on his plate, now and then sneaking a look at the doors from under the black curtain of his hair. Finally, she appeared. Dark circles rimmed eyes that shone luminous from a pale face. She seemed utterly exhausted and almost ethereal as she made her way to the Gryffindor table. She slid into her seat, absentmindedly loading food on her plate, her eyes focused strictly ahead on the table.

He was aware that his eyes had not left her since she had made an appearance in the room, but thankfully, the long strands of raven hair framing his face kept the other teachers from noticing. He forced himself to look down at his plate. He buttered his toast to keep busy, but could not force himself to eat a single bite.

When he looked up again, he caught her looking at him. His black eyes clashed with hers and neither of them was able to look away. Time seemed to slow down around him as the sounds dimmed, all except for the beating of his heart that was thrumming through his body so fast and energetically that he could feel it pulsing against his skin. He had tried so hard to put everything that had happened behind him, but to no avail as it seemed.

It took an almost physical effort for him to tear his gaze away from her. It was as if every fiber in his being rebelled against that notion, wanting to observe her further, to try to gauge her reactions, to try to read in her eyes how she was coping. But he could not keep staring at her like some lecherous lunatic. Forcing his gaze down onto his plate, he started cutting his toast into precise slices that he knew he would not eat. When he had cut the toast to precision and had balanced the scrambled eggs on top, he allowed himself a last glance.

Her seat was empty. His eyes snapped to the door, but she had already left.

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Potions class was misery. The instant that she entered his classroom, his heart picked up its pace, racing off in his chest without any intention to slow down as time progressed. Fortunately, years of working as a spy under extreme duress paid off and he was able to perform as usual.

He instructed the class on the brewing stages of a blood-replenishing potion, demonstrating the correct way of chopping knotgrass. The root of the plant had to be severed from the rest with one precise cut. It contained a strong poison that was released into the leaves if they were fed upon or damaged, so it was imperative to first divest the plant of its rhizome before slicing the leaves into fine slivers. His nimble fingers picked up the silver knife.

His hands, after years of practice, were able to perform their task on their own. It seemed as if he hardly moved, but his hands glided over his table in a rapid dance, the silver knife sliding over his cutting board in a fluid see-saw motion.

As he looked up, his eyes sought out Miss Granger on their own volition. She was transfixed, completely lost as her eyes followed every minute move of his agile fingers. Her amber eyes were glowing as she drew in a deep breath, her lashes fluttering. As he scraped the slivered leaves to the side with a graceful sweep of his blade, she swallowed and bit her lip.

Although he usually demonstrated a process only once to make sure each and every one of the dunderheads was paying utmost attention, he found his left hand sneaking for another knotgrass plant to place it on his board. The whole time, his eyes never left Granger's face, and she in turn regarded his fingers as intently as if she were a cat spying on its prey.

He enjoyed her attention very much. Too much. What was he doing? With an angry flourish, he swiped the remaining slivers of knotgrass off his cutting board before instructing the class in a gravelly voice to get started, immediately.

He folded himself into his chair, staring at the parchments in front of him but he could not focus enough on the words to understand what he was reading. Every cell of his body was aware off Miss Granger and it took an inhumane effort for him not to look at her.

Finally, he gave in.

Her hair was in disarray, wild strands curling into her face as she was intently focused on her potion, checking and rechecking every step in her book before adding a new ingredient or stirring the potion with her rod. As a consequence, she took twice as long to complete her potion, leaving her to be one of the last students to leave her sample on his desk.

He kept his eyes focused on the parchments on his desk as she approached, not daring to look up. Without speaking, she placed the flask on his desk and turned to leave the room.

Long after she was gone, he was still staring at the door.

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Two weeks progressed in the same manner and he thought he would go out of his mind. Everything he did, everywhere he was, she was always on his mind. In his dreams, he was haunted by her soft lips and her yielding body, and he had reverted to using a dreamless sleep potion on most nights, which left him quite groggy on the following days.

She had kept her steely resolve, not meeting his eyes anymore and not speaking when she delivered her potion to his desk. The soft clink when she put it down on the wooden surface was the only interaction they had. It was torture, but there was no other way to go.

The second week drew to a close, and he wondered how long he could go on like this. When she was this close to him in class, he did not even dare to breathe in her direction out of fear how his body would react. His need for her attention and her touch did not abate, so he had to withdraw himself from her as far as possible.

This time, she was the last student to finish her potion. As her classmates filed out of the room, she stoppered her flask and packed her bag before picking her way towards his desk. He kept his eyes focused on his desk, trying to keep his mind blank and his heartrate down.

He waited for the soft clink of her bottle, but it did not come. The silence in the room thickened as the seconds ticked by. He finally raised his eyes to see her holding out the flask to him. His right hand moved upwards, unbidden, to take it from her slender fingers. As his fingertips grasped the cold glass surface in a firm hold, she released the bottle and started to slowly draw her hand away.

As her fingers fell away, one of them brushed against the base of one of his fingers that cradled the bottom of the flask. That simple touch shot a jolt of electricity through his body and had fire racing along his limbs. Her soft fingertip lingered before drawing a slow, burning trail along his finger, tracing along his calloused and rough skin.

Shivers raced along his spine and it took all of his efforts not to shiver on the outside from this sensation of sheer bliss. Again, he was mystified by the physical reactions to her touch. Nothing should be allowed to feel this good.

Finally, she had reached the tip. She applied a soft, brief pressure to the sensitive pad of his fingertip, which felt oddly intimate and disconcertingly thrilling. His chest constricted again, leaving him struggling for his next breath.

Her fingers fell away, but she did not step away from his desk. He braced himself and slowly raised his eyes to meet hers. Again, he was overwhelmed by her sight and her closeness. How he wished he could control the responses his body so willingly fired off every time she was near.

As he looked into her eyes, he realized that there was something there, something new – a certain resolve?

"Professor Snape," she said, and he realized just how much he had missed hearing her voice. If someone had told him this a month ago, he would have transferred them straight so St. Mungo's.

"Sir, I have a proposal for you."

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 **A/N: Ooooh, Hermione, what might that be?**

 **Review and find out!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you for your wonderful responses! As always, they work: voilà to a new chapter. As if it were magic… ;)**

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Chapter 3

A proposal? Pleasurable excitement rose in his stomach, unbidden. He tried to push it away. What did she want from him? Whatever it was, it could not be good. Either, it would be something crossing the student-teacher-line, which he could not allow, or she would come to him because she wanted to propose something concerning their working relationship, which made him uneasy. He had to keep their contact to a minimum. Whatever she was about to propose would very likely complicate things. But he could not just send her away, either.

He gave her a nod to indicate she should proceed.

"I have been thinking a lot about what you have said – about your explanation. And I have found myself thinking a lot about you – as a person. That much, in fact, that it has affected my work." She bit her lip at that. "You know how important my N.E.W.T.s are for me. I cannot risk performing inadequately. I need to find some sort of… release. And you do, too."

At the thunderous look in his eyes, she held up her hand to keep him from speaking. "I am not suggesting to cross that certain line. But I suggest skirting it. Please, hear me out before you reply."

The thunderous look in his eyes was still present, but he waved for her to proceed.

"You have mentioned that you lost your control because you have not experienced that kind of caring touch before. I suggest that we find time in which you experience more of such a touch with me – without kissing or anything else that you feel would cross the line." she quickly added, a blush staining her cheeks. "Of course, we would need to spend some time together. And we would need a cover story, which is why I propose that you will give me private tutoring which will enable me to take my Potions NEWT early, which is to say at the end of this school year."

His eyes widened in surprise, his mind whirring at her proposal. She was not finished though, it seemed, as she was struggling for her next words.

"And if I have taken my N.E.W.T, you will no longer be my teacher." She studied the tips of her toes as she continued. "So the line would cease to exist. Just in case, that at the time, you decided that you wanted… more."

Her words stole his breath. Had she really just said that? Without influence of that damned Weasley concoction? His mind flooded with images of him, her, free to do what they wished with each other. Her, willing and pliant in his arms. Finally having a taste of what had always been denied to him but what he had wanted too much. He had always been destined to have it slip through his fingers. Would this be another one of these times? Or was there a tiny, minuscule chance that there was hope? That there might be someone who actually cared about him? Someone who wanted to be with him, who wanted to feel his touch and give him hers? His heart beat erratically as he considered her proposal.

In the end, there was not much of an option. He had been going mad those last two weeks. His ability to perform in class had decreased day by day and he found himself lost in thought when he should not be. In his line of work, the one outside of the classroom, this could prove to be fatal. Maybe this arrangement would help him take hold of the mad stream of his feelings, to at least function again. She needed it, too, as it seemed.

"I accept your proposal."

She had kept her head bent since she had stopped speaking, and when his softly spoken words reached her ears, her head snapped up and she looked at him in surprise.

"Of course, I will need to inform the headmaster about this change of plans and get his agreement on the whole matter."

She nodded and worried her lower lip. That little habit of hers disturbed him on several levels, one of them being that he felt a tugging inside his body when he watched her do that. He sighed at the treacherous reactions of his body.

Obviously, there was something she wanted to ask, he knew the signs after all those years of having her in his classroom.

"Granger, out with it. What is it that you want to ask?"

She shifted on the balls of her feet, clearly conflicted. Finally, she took a deep breath. "Are you free now? Because this was my last lesson of the day and there is still time before dinner. So we could start now, if you wanted to. Not with the extra Potions lesson, of course, we would wait for Dumbledore's okay before doing that, but with the other part. The touching, you know. Of course you know, that's what it's all about. I mean … I'm sorry for babbling, it's just… I'm just … so, _are_ you free?"

He was relieved that she obviously felt as nervous as himself, if her logorrhea was any indication. He did have time right now, actually. He had planned on grading some essays, but that could wait, indeed.

"I am free." He wondered what her idea of 'skirting the line' was and what exactly she had planned for him. He regarded her expectantly. "Proceed."

She gave a small smile at that before pointing at the spot beside his chair. "Do you mind if I pull my chair closer so we can sit facing each other without a desk in between?"

Her request was reasonable, so he nodded. She moved her chair and seated herself before scooting even closer until their knees touched. He felt the heat of her skin through the fabric of his trousers, and suddenly, it was as if he could feel nothing else except for those two spots of heat.

She reached out her hand and took one of his, curling her fingers loosely around his palm. The touch of her soft fingertips conjured up the memory of when her lips had slid along his fingers. He pushed the thought away, trying to just feel her touch as a friend, as someone who cared.

Her fingertips trailed over the back of his hand as she spoke. "A year ago my parents treated me to a Thai massage on my birthday. I have never felt such wonderful sensations before, and afterwards, I was jelly in her hands. There are parts of your body you would never expect to be so sensitive or to feel that… intense. It was very fascinating, so I read up on it." She shot him a smirk that said, yes, I know, don't say it.

"The skin contains several types of mechanoreceptor cells, one of them being Pacinian corpuscles which are located in the subcutis and are responsible for sensitivity to vibration and pressure. Most of them are located in the areas of your hands and feet, especially in the palms and along your fingers." She turned his hand so his palm faced upwards and uncurled his fingers to lay bare his palm. "The Pacinian corpuscles have the strongest response to pressure of all mechanical receptors of the skin, but as they are located in the subcutis, they require a firm press of a thumb to activate."

As she spoke, she drew both of her thumbs over the surface of his palm, pressing down as they circled his skin.

Oh Merlin.

Oh, how could anything feel this good? He knew about massages, of course, but he had never treated himself to one. He would have found the thought ridiculous. But now he wondered if maybe he had missed out on the greatest thing in the world. A groan escaped him as her thumbs returned to their starting point and circled over his palm again. He could lose himself in this sensation, just feel. He closed his eyes as his head fell back. This was sublime.

Much too soon, it had only been a minute, he felt her hands fall away from his and he mourned their absence as if he were missing a limb. Opening his eyes, he found her rummaging in her bag.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm just looking for… ah, there it is!"

She pulled something from the depths of her bag and regarded him sheepishly. "I hope you don't mind that it is scented." Holding up a small bottle of hand lotion, she proceeded to uncap it and squirt some of it into her palm, spreading it between her fingers before she grasped his hand again. Her thumbs returned to the path they had taken before, but this time, the lotion ensured that they glided more smoothly, somehow enhancing the whole experience. Again, he could not suppress a pleasured groan as he sank deeper into his chair, relinquishing all control over his hand, and subsequently, body.

Her thumbs kept sliding over the skin of his palm, feeling more sublime than anything he had ever felt before. Suddenly, they changed course. Her small hand grasped his index finger at its base, her fingers curling around it in a tight fist. She pulled her fist towards his fingertips, tugging on his skin and stretching the bones and ligaments inside his finger.

A deep moan rose from his throat as her tight grip pulled and tugged, his nerve endings firing in pure bliss. Her every touch was magic, soothing sore spots inside of him, leaving a warm, buzzing feeling all over his body. He could get used to this. He needed this. He wanted this. Every day, every minute. Always.

His closed eyes cracked open for a fraction of an inch, not noticeable to her but enough to let him glance at the young woman deeply concentrated on working on his hand with her talented fingers. Her lower lip was in the firm grasp of her teeth, tendrils of soft hair framing her face. She was like a beautiful apparition, too good to be true. Yet the firm pressure of her fingertips belied his impression.

Her eyes were intensely focused on her task, but he could almost see the wheels turning behind them.

"Granger, what is it?" he growled, opening his eyes fully.

She jumped in response but held onto his hand. The sight of his long fingers in her firm grasp twisted something inside of him.

"I need more," she said, her amber eyes meeting his, sending electrical jolts through his body.

His heart stopped in his chest. She said more, but the blood thrumming in his ears made it impossible for him to understand what she had said.

* * *

 **A/N: Ahhh, I know, I know! My vice is that I just can't seem to end chapters without a cliffy.**

 **Next up, a bit of Hermione's POV? What do you say?**

 **Review and make it happen!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you so much for your beautiful responses, it's the best part about writing!**

* * *

Chapter 4

Hermione could not believe she held his slender hand in hers. She had dreamed of this for so long, to stroke along his calloused fingers, to feel the heat of his skin against hers. Butterflies erupted in her stomach and she had to pull herself together as not to show how much it affected her.

Her obsession with Severus Snape had reached new heights in the last couple of weeks. She had always admired him, had craved his approval and his attention, but only during the last couple of months had she admitted to herself that it had grown into something more. Something had shifted inside her, and suddenly there had been an awareness – of him, as a man. As a dark, wonderfully intriguing man that had her heart beating faster every time the silky timbre of his voice reached her ears.

She could not focus anymore when he was near, her thoughts in disarray and her heart beating wildly in her chest. When his black eyes met hers, her stomach dropped and heat coursed through her body. Those moments were wonderful and terrible at the same time. Wonderful, because of the way he made her feel, made her body explode with emotions, and terrible because she was afraid her feelings were clearly written across her face. The thought that he might know about her infatuation with him was more than she could bear. He would never let her live this down if he ever found out.

And then… detention had happened. She still remembered every second. Although she had acted completely out of character, she had for once done exactly what she had wanted and found that she was unable to regret it. Because he had responded to her advances.

Never in a million years would she have believed that he would allow her kiss. The moment his tongue had touched hers, her insides had turned into a raging inferno of longing and desire. She had expected him to pull away, but instead, he had pulled her closer.

She bit her lip at the memory, recalling every subtle move of his lips over hers. He had held her as if she were supposed to be there in his arms. As if she were _his_. It had been the most exhilarating experience of her life.

When he had pulled away and the influence of the substance had lifted, there had been a moment, just a second, where something had smoldered in his eyes and it had burned her to the core. For just this second, she had been convinced he would pull her into his arms again and resume their kiss.

Unfortunately, she had been mistaken.

He had made it clear to her that it could never happen again, which left her devastated although she had known there could not be anything else. Yet, the fact that he had not obliviated her had left her feeling strangely hopeful.

After their kiss, she could think of nothing else, replaying the experience over and over again in her mind. She had wanted to see him again so badly, but the whole weekend, he had been absent from the Great Hall. Then, finally, on Monday morning, he had been seated at the staff table. She had tried so hard not to look at him, but it had been to no avail. It was as if her eyes were drawn to him on their own accord. Her gaze had only caressed him for a second before his eyes snapped up, clashing with hers.

Instantly, there had been a connection between them. Everything else had seemed to fall away as she had been lost in the heated gaze of his black eyes. Her body had tingled as hot waves had crested in her body, leaving her breathless and excited. After what seemed like an eternity, he had severed their connection, focusing on his plate, his long, slender fingers gracefully handling the cutlery.

She had sat there for a minute, dazed, before shaking herself out of her reverie. She needed to get in control of herself. Afraid that she might make a fool out of herself if she stayed any longer, she had quickly left the hall.

Potions class had been misery. The moment she had stepped into his classroom and spotted his tall, dark frame leaning against his desk, she had been unable to concentrate on anything but him. She had wanted to close her eyes at the sound of his voice as it affected her so.

When he had demonstrated the correct way to prepare knotgrass, the agile movements of his hands had her in their spell. She had always admired his graceful, nimble fingers, but now that she knew what they felt like, what they tasted like, after she had run her lips along them, their allure had increased even more. She had to bite her lip as she watched him work, something twisting deep inside her at the sight.

Her concentration had been shattered, but she could not allow herself another mistake like the one with the beetle eyes, so she checked and re-checked every step before proceeding. It had never taken her that long to complete a potion before.

When she had made her way to his desk to drop off her potion, her heart had been beating erratically in her chest, and she had wished that the two of them were alone, that they could go back to what had been between them. But it was a fantasy, and a dangerous one at that. She had to stop herself before she lost complete control of the situation.

Steeling her resolve, she had decided to quit cold turkey right there, right then. Her education was too important. Gathering all of her willpower, she had kept her gaze down, not looking at him, before placing her flask on his desk.

The next two weeks had been pure agony. Her concentration had slipped even more, and completing the simplest potions suddenly seemed like a huge challenge. She had found herself daydreaming in other classes, too, something she just could not allow. Something had to be done.

Her thoughts had kept circling back to his explanation, and suddenly, she had had an inspiration. Obviously, he had craved her touch, too, but that they had crossed the teacher-student-boundary had made it impossible for him to accept anything further from her.

What if she took her Potion N.E.W.T. early and with that, vanish the boundary? She would need extra tutoring, of course, but how… Suddenly, the inspiration had become an epiphany. Everything seemed to fit perfectly together.

The longer she had thought about it, the more she had been convinced that it was the only way to go. The next Potions lesson, she had been unable to stop herself. Lingering while finishing up her potion, she had made sure to be the last student in the room before approaching him. This time, she had made him take the flask from her hand, and when he had complied, she had trailed a finger along his skin to gauge his reaction. Before she made her proposal, she needed to make sure that he was still interested in her, too.

As her finger had trailed along his, he had drawn in a sharp breath and his eyes had glazed over. That had been enough for her.

To her absolute astonishment, he had accepted her proposal. And after an awkward round of stammering, she was finally seated here, in front of him, one of his hands cradled inside her own while her insides were in turmoil.

Massaging his hand had been a blissful experience of its own. She had melted away on the inside as she had worked on him. That he allowed her to be so close to him, to touch him that… intimately, left her feeling breathless and wonderfully cherished. She wanted this moment to last forever.

What she wanted even more was to explore the skin that lay hidden beneath the long, fitted sleeves of his coat. She had not been able to perform the massage to its full extend since her range was limited. If she could only open those buttons and slide the fabric upwards, exposing his skin to her touch... She bit her lip as she pondered if she should ask him for permission to do so, though she feared he might be adverse to the idea. She did not want to spoil the moment.

She jumped as he suddenly spoke.

"Granger, what is it?" he growled, obviously sensing she was conflicted about something.

How was she supposed to ask him so that he did not misunderstand her intentions? She really wanted to give him the whole experience of the massage, which included the wrist, but she did not know how to tell him that she could not reach enough skin?

"I need more…" access? Range? Skin? She pondered which word to use as she met his eyes and was surprised to see a fire burning there. What had she said?

Oh.

Yes, she needed more. More of everything. More of _him_ , her mind screamed. She caught herself and finished her sentence. "I need to be able to reach your wrist to do this properly."

He kept staring at her for a minute before he snapped out of it. "Excuse me, could you repeat that?"

When she had explained her request again, he hesitated, but finally opened the buttons wandlessly with a flick of his fingers.

She slid her fingertips under the fabric, pushing it upwards towards his elbows, laying bare his pale wrist. Old scars were crisscrossing the skin of his forearms and she had to restrain herself not to follow them with her fingertips. It felt forbidden, to see this part of him that was usually covered, and it excited her on a level that she did not want to give any further thought to right now. She would keep that for later.

Squeezing some more lotion into her hands, she set to work again, starting with the circles on his palm. He gave a low groan that lifted the corners of her mouth in a satisfied smirk. That she made him feel this way gave her a smug satisfaction. He enjoyed her touch, her presence. How long she had hoped for this.

After she had treated his palm to several rounds of her pressing thumbs, she slid her hands upwards, circling his wrist in a tight grip and pushing upwards, sliding along his skin towards his elbow. Along the way, she spread out her fingers and drew furrows into the muscles of his forearms. He drew in a sharp breath, but she didn't think it was from pain. At least that's what she hoped. He gave a low growl of approval and she relaxed, continuing her ministrations.

* * *

Severus was in heaven. Nothing he had ever felt compared to this.

Well, except for that kiss, a voice in the back of his mind spoke up, but he quickly pushed the thought away. This massage was incredible and he was going to enjoy every second of his piece of heaven.

When her fingertips dug into his forearm, he had to suppress a very vocal response. The knotted fibers in his muscles loosened at her touch, a sudden heat and relaxation flowing from his arm into his body, making every cell inside of him hum in contentment. He wished she would go on like this forever.

When she had worked for some minutes, though, her hold relaxed until her fingertips were only stroking softly over his skin, retreating to his hand before finally falling away.

He knew he had to open his eyes and acknowledge that this magnificent experience was over, but for just one more second, he kept his eyes closed, completely enjoying the moment. His right arm felt boneless, his heated skin prickling and tingling.

Finally, he cracked open his eyes. She regarded him with a quizzical look, her lower lip trapped again by her teeth. There was more that she wanted to ask him. Of course. His eyebrow arched in a silent question.

One corner of her mouth lifted in a small smirk at his perceptiveness. "Are you ready for the other arm? A massage is always applied symmetrically."

A rush of pleasure shot through him at the thought of her hands repeating the whole process on his other arm, to experience this piece of heaven again. But then another thought crossed his mind and it felt like a bucket of ice cold water had been dumped over his body. She would have to open that sleeve, too, but this forearm bore the Dark Mark. It was his dark, shameful secret.

She probably knew that he had been marked, as the Golden Trio seemed to be aware of his role as a spy, thanks to Dumbledore's meddling. Yet, it was something else entirely to see the thing in the flesh. The way it was grotesquely and obscenely slithering along his arm made him always shiver in revulsion. It was ugly, depraved and evil. With one look at it, she would finally understand who was seated in front of her. She would be no longer be able to give in to any illusion about who he really was. It would break that delicate connection that had formed between them and that he seemed surprisingly unwilling to give up.

It had been utterly delicious to have her eyes rake lovingly over his tall frame, to see her devour his hands with her eyes and fingers. He would never forget this as long as he lived, he vowed to himself.

Still, common sense won out. If he revealed his arm and scared her off for good, it would take care of the problem as a whole; he would not be risking crossing the student-teacher-boundary anymore. It was the only way to go, although something inside him broke at the thought of giving this up.

Taking a deep breath, he resigned himself to his fate, opening the buttons on his left sleeve wandlessly before closing his eyes and resting his head on the back of his chair.

* * *

 **A/N: So, how is Hermione going to react? Aren't you just dying to find out? Me, too!  
So review and find out! Bribe the muse!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you for bribing the muse, it worked!**

 **I feel I need to address an issue that has come up in your reviews. I am a fan of canon-compliant stories, and the way I see Hermione Granger, she would have used the hell out of her time-turner. I mean, why wouldn't she, seriously? Also, has anyone ever considered that if she doubled her time studying, she also needed to put some time in for extra sleep, too? Consequently, I believe her time-turner use was extensive, making her well of age towards the end of her fifth year. I do hope that answers some questions that you might have had as to which school year this is taking place in. ;)**

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Chapter 5

He kept his eyes closed, his heart beating wildly in his chest in anticipation and terror. He felt her fingertips ghosting over his skin, moving along his palm towards his sleeve. Slowly, carefully, she started pushing the fabric upwards.

He had wanted to keep his eyes closed, to save himself from the look of revulsion on her face, but his eyes cracked open on their own accord, and instantly focused on her face.

Why did she always have to bite her lip? His visceral response to that was so unsettling. Her fingers kept moving upwards, almost reaching the first lines of the Dark Mark. He kept his gaze pinned on her as the head of the snake was revealed.

Her lips parted in surprise, but she kept pushing the fabric away until she had uncovered the whole nasty affair. Her eyebrows drew together in a frown as she studied it. He watched her with a heavy heart, waiting for that spark of realization preceding imminent disgust.

It did not come.

Rather, he saw curiosity written all over her face as she studied his forearm intently. Looking up at him from under her long lashes, he smiled cautiously. "Does it hurt?" she asked.

It took a minute for him to find his words because he was still reeling from his surprise at her lack of aversion. He knew that she was always drawn to help the underdog, trying to give care and sympathy to even the most pitiful and revolting creatures. That might be an explanation for why she was able to stand the sight of his shameful blemish. That she could control her reaction that much was astonishing.

"It just feels a little sore," he responded to her question.

"Can I touch it?"

His eyes widened at her question. He had known she was curious, but he still had not expected this. Hesitantly, he nodded.

Her fingertips moved over his skin, closer, ever closer to the first dark lines of ink forming the head of the snake. Her touch felt electric, and he held his breath in anticipation of how it would feel when her fingertips finally made contact with the dark mark. No one had touched it before. Even he himself did not touch it if he could help it, keeping it hidden as much as possible, not wanting to look at it. It was bad enough how it made him feel, those filaments of evil magic taking root inside of his body, poisoning his mind and tainting his feelings. He had not felt anything but despair in such a long time that this experience with Miss Granger seemed like a different life, a different reality.

Finally, her fingertips reached the snake. They hovered for a second, before softly and very carefully stroking along the black, moving lines on his skin.

He hissed, but not from the pain, but because he was overwhelmed by the sight of Miss Granger, whose expression held warmth, sympathy and affection as she continued to stroke along the black ink. It was almost more than he could bear.

"You don't have to do this," he said, his voice rough.

She looked up at him, confused. "Don't have to do what?"

"Pretend that it does not bother you, that you are not repulsed by it." He could not stand her affection anymore, he just needed to know the truth, to know how she really felt about it.

She looked at him for a minute, a frown playing across her face while she regarded him, obviously deep in thought. Finally, her hand came up to rest on his chest.

"Are _you_ repulsed by it?" she asked him.

"Of course!" he hissed. "It is vile and depraved, and it marks me as just that. This is who I am and I wish I weren't." The words had tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. He had not wanted to reveal this much. He stared resolutely at the wall, unable to meet her eyes.

He felt her move, but he kept his eyes averted, too ashamed to look. Hot breath stirred the tiny hairs on his forearm, causing tingles to run along his skin. Then, he felt the softest, lightest touch as her silky lips pressed a kiss onto the center of his Dark Mark.

His eyes snapped to her face, unable to believe what his sense of touch had just relayed to him. But it was true. Her head was bent and her lips were ghosting over his forearm, placing little kisses along his sore skin of his mark. There was a sharp pain in his chest as something broke; only to be mended again, instantly.

He was lost. Lost to her and what she did to him, how she made him feel. For the first time in his life, he felt cared for, even… _loved_.

This was what he had wanted all of his life and he had kept it hidden like a shameful secret, keeping himself isolated and apart from human contact when all he wanted was this – to be held like he mattered, as if he was loved.

But he did not want to be held just by anyone. He had kept himself isolated because there had been no one that he had wanted close by, no one that he could stand in his presence over longer periods of time.

Except for her. Somehow she had managed to break through to him, to connect with the person behind his stern façade. And now she was giving him everything he had ever wanted and he did not know how to deal with that.

She raised her head and looked right into his eyes, linking the fingers of her left hand with his while her right one kept stroking softly over the forearm bearing the Dark Mark. "This is _not_ who you are, Severus Snape." She squeezed his hand. "You are neither vile nor depraved. This mark does not define you. It is a reminder of a very bad decision, but that is a part of your past and you are doing everything you can to make up for it. You are a good man, and the bravest one I know. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

Her words were like a soothing balm to his heart, although every fiber in his being rebelled against the truth of her words. She could not really mean that, not _really_ believe that. No one could be that open minded, that caring.

"I think we might just need to agree to disagree on this one, Granger," he said, trying to break the closeness that had built up between them and had wrapped itself around him like a warm, comfortable blanket.

She gave a small snort that he found rather charming before she settled back into her chair and picked up her bottle of lotion and squeezing another generous measure into her hand. She looked up at him and smiled, quirking an eyebrow and nodding her chin towards his left hand.

Not breaking eye contact, he lifted his hand and placed it into her waiting palm. It felt so utterly intimate that he had to suppress a shudder. When her fingers started to move, pressing into his skin, his eyes fluttered shut on their own accord. Resting his head on the back of his chair again, he allowed the sensation to overtake his body. It seemed he had not only relinquished control over his left arm, but also over his whole body, mind and maybe even a tiny, secret part of his shriveled black heart.

She worked on this arm as diligently as on the first, if not even more. Her movements were especially soft and caring when they moved over his Dark Mark, and each time he had to suppress a hiss of pleasure.

But finally, her strokes became softer, and he realized that it was almost over. He was willing her to continue, but soon, he felt her fingertips retreat to his palm and finally fall away.

Pulling himself together, he tried not to show how much this had affected him as he opened his eyes. She smiled at him nervously, obviously waiting for him to say something. But what could he say to that? There were no words to describe it.

"I enjoyed this very much," he said, his voice hoarse. Oh, indeed, the words were lacking. 'Enjoy' was not even close to what he had felt, but his language failed him at the moment. Also, he was not sure if he even wanted to convey to Miss Granger what a powerful hold she had over him.

"I did, too." The words were spoken softly, but with feeling.

Their eyes locked, and again everything else seemed to fall away, that instant connection between them as it had been in the Great Hall, but this time, there was no one here. No one here to see them, to stop them. He knew it was forbidden to pursue anything, but his mind could not stop entertaining these thoughts.

She moved closer, and her scent washed over him, enticing him even further, her eyes shining with emotion and longing. Gods, how he wanted her, too.

But he would not cross that line again. He couldn't. And yet, when she drifted even closer, he found himself unable to stop her.

* * *

 **A/N: Cliffhangers'R'us, you know the drill.**

 **The muse eagerly awaits your reviews :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This time, I'm trying for a slow burn. You have been warned.  
**

 **Also, I want to address the issue of my new profile name. It turned out that FF . net did not allow for my old name to be searched for as a writer, and I don't have the slightest clue as to why. Thus, name change and voila - I can be found. So, the new name will stay. Besides, I kind of like it... obviously.**

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Chapter 6

She was right in front of him, her delicious scent washing over him, taking away his ability to think. Her tongue came out to lick her lips and he was transfixed by the sight.

It scared him how much he lost control when she was near. He could not cross that line, should not cross it, but when she was this close, reason seemed to leave him as if it were water running through his fingers. She met his eyes and he held his breath, afraid of what she might do and afraid of how he might respond do it.

"I don't want to do anything you don't want me to do," she whispered, sensing his inner conflict.

He almost scoffed, but turned it into a wistful smirk. "The problem is not that I don't want to, Hermione, just the opposite." His black eyes bore into hers. "I want it more than I should, more than I am allowed to. If I cross this line, I will lose the last shred of decency that I have. I am very much trying to hold on to it." He closed his eyes to steady himself.

A delicious shiver had run down her spine at his confession, but she had also seen the apprehension and the pained look in his eyes when he spoke about decency. She did not want to force him to do something he would come to regret. She never wanted him to regret anything he did with her.

"I am not going to cross the line unless you ask me to," she promised, her eyes sincere as they locked onto his. "But I will continue to walk up to and along that line as often as I can, if you will let me."

She looked up at him with a silent question in her wide eyes, and he gave a small nod, consenting to whatever she had on her mind at the moment. A brilliant smile lit up her face at that, and something inside his chest flipped at the sight. He took a deep breath to steady himself.

"I am going to hug you now," she said, her eyes sparkling. "A real embrace, one that you have to lean into. And you will have to hug back, and try to enjoy being held. Do you think you can manage?"

The thought of her arms wrapped around him, her soft body pressed to his was more than he could bear right now, but he decided that it would be even worse not having her pressed against him. Now that she had talked about it and had put that image into his mind, he could think of nothing else but be held by her.

"I think I can manage," he grumbled, unsure how to proceed.

He needn't have worried. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, she stepped up to him, sliding her arms around his waist and pulling him close.

For a moment, he froze, unable to breathe, overwhelmed by the sensations that his body was telegraphing to his brain. Her soft, warm skin pressed to his, her head tucked under his chin, nuzzling his chest, her fingertips drawing slow circles over the skin of his back while her arms held him tight against her.

The massage had been wonderful and intense, but there had been a distance between their bodies and a purpose to her movements. But this, this was pure caring, affection and warmth. For the first time in his life, someone held him as if they cared. This was for him, just for him alone.

His arms came around her, tightening around her waist, holding on for dear life as emotions crashed over him, drowning him with their intensity. What was she doing to him? How could those slender, delicate arms make him feel so safe, anchor him to the world?

He let himself enjoy the moment, feel her fingertips traveling over the lengths of his back in soothing circles. He rested his chin on her head and let one of his hands travel upwards to burrow in her corkscrew curls. She gave a content sigh and snuggled closer, fitting perfectly into his arms, molding herself to his body.

Overwhelmed by her scent and closeness, his lips pressed a soft kiss on the top of her head before he was able to reign himself in, tucking her under his chin again and pulling her closer, allowing his hands in turn to travel over her body.

"Severus," she whispered, and a hot shiver raced down his spine at the sound of his name from her lips, spoken almost reverently. She turned her face to look up at him and again he was lost in her luminous eyes, drowning in her loving gaze. He was about to throw all of his good intentions out of the window and claim her soft lips in a searing kiss when the dinner bell rang, breaking the spell between the two of them.

She took a step back and he felt the loss of her warmth as if he were missing a limb.

 _Just in time_ , he thought. He had been that close to ravishing her right there in his arms. He had to get in better control of himself.

"See you at dinner?" She smiled up at him.

He should tell her to forget about their deal, about what they had done, to move on, but all he could do was give her a short nod and motion for her to proceed.

"I'll be there in a couple of minutes," he said, watching her leave. When the door closed behind her, he collapsed onto his chair. That had been close, so close. A part of his mind berated him for going that far with Granger, while another was complaining that he had not gone far enough.

He rubbed his temples to ward off a headache that crawled up his spine. This woman confused him like no other. The way she made him feel… like he was a starving man presented with the most delectable food but he was only allowed to look and smell, not eat and taste… How was he supposed to endure more sessions with Granger?

Yet he had to, there was no alternative. She would be around, either way, and not touching her at all was no alternative anymore. He needed her hands on his body, and wanted run his fingers over her soft curves in return.

Maybe there was a potion that might help him suppress some of the stronger urges of his body. He would research tonight after dinner, he decided. With that thought on his mind, he made his way to the Great Hall.

* * *

She was already seated with her friends, chatting amicably. She was like a beacon of good mood, so unlike the subdued, exhausted Granger of the last two weeks. To know that it was their interaction that had changed her so twisted something inside his chest.

He looked away quickly, trying to compose himself. There was still a talk with Dumbledore ahead and he had to brace himself. The shrewd headmaster was a force to be reckoned with, keeping a close eye on everything Severus did. He could only hope that Dumbledore would approve of his tutoring Miss Granger. He did not want to think of how it would feel if he could no longer be close to her. Just entertaining the idea made him sick.

He tried to focus his thoughts on his talk with Dumbledore, trying to iron out his arguments while he rearranged the food on his plate.

When Dumbledore slipped from his seat, Severus rose to fall in step behind him. "Headmaster?" Dumbledore looked up at him, a frown playing over his face. There was something in the depths of his brilliant blue eyes that put Severus on edge. The headmaster had an uncanny ability to know exactly what happened in the halls of Hogwarts at all times.

"Severus, what is it?" Dumbledore narrowed his eyes at him, his trademark twinkle strangely absent.

* * *

 **A/N: Oh, oh. Dumbledore in the way?  
**


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